


hold you through the night (watch the colorado sunrise)

by stonesnuggler



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not Hockey Player(s), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Beer League Hockey, Established Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Mini Avalanche Ensemble, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-05-31 10:36:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15117596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonesnuggler/pseuds/stonesnuggler
Summary: When Nate first went to get his blood tested for it’s Compatibility Color a week after his eighteenth birthday, he wondered what it would be like to have someone that matched him, to already feel like he knows his Compatible whenever they end up meeting.But when Nate came out of the appointment with only a band-aid stuck over his arm and no Color to call his own, all of those wondrous ideas came to a crashing halt. His parents assured him that it was okay, that not everyone has a Color, but Nate couldn’t help but feel that something was missing.Well, until he met Tyson, that is.They didn't count on Gabe.





	hold you through the night (watch the colorado sunrise)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [somehowunbroken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/gifts).



> hi ki!!! i really wanted to try my hand at something out of my comfort zone, and what better way to do that than with a team i intend on following this year!! it was super fun to write these soft boys, so i hope you really enjoy it <3
> 
> thank you to e, lj, h, and jt who listened to me yell and whine abt this everytime i needed to yell and whine about it. your encouragement and cheerleading helped so so much. 
> 
> as per usual, if you or anyone you know is tagged in this, do us all a favor and throw whatever device you're reading this on through a woodchipper thanks <3 
> 
> title is from 3oh!3's colorado sunrise for no reason other than the fact that they're colorado boys and uh. i actually really love that song lmao

Nate has hit a wall.

Okay, so not literally. While he has done that once or twice in his life, this is thankfully not one of those times. No, the wall he’s hit is definitely more figurative, and it’s this big fat brick wall with the words “writer’s block” spray painted onto it in bright orange. They’re not orange for any specific reason, save for the fact that Nate _hates_ orange.

Anyway, none of that is the point, because the point is as follows: Nate has to have at least two chapters of this book to send to his editor by Friday evening, and while he has approximately five days to do so, he’d much rather be curled up in bed with his boyfriend.

As he has that thought – a thought he has quite often while sitting alone with his laptop on their couch at ass o’clock in the morning – Tyson emerges from their room, sleep rumpled and barely awake. There’s a soft smile on his face, like being awake at four-thirty in the goddamn morning is almost worth it, and it tugs at Nate’s heart a little.

“What’s got you up?” Nate asks as Tyson comes over to the couch, tucking himself into Nate’s side and steals a cracker from the sleeve in Nate’s lap that he’s been munching on. “You don’t have work today.”

Tyson hums, tucks himself further into Nate’s side, if at all possible. “Internal alarm clocks are the manifestation of Satan,” he says, grumbly and muffled against Nate’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t be awake either.”

Nate laughs, soft and easy before running a hand through Tyson’s sleep tousled curls.

“I hit a wall,” Nate says, pressing the save button four times before backing his document up and shutting his laptop.

Tyson hums. “Never mind. Writer’s walls are the manifestation of Satan.”

“You’ve got that right,” Nate says, pressing a kiss to the top of Tyson’s head. “Think you’re up for the day or do you wanna nap with me before I have to head to class?”

“Nathan MacKinnon you have _class_ in the morning?” Tyson scolds, shooting up and pointing a finger in Nate’s face. Nate just rolls his eyes, so very used to this and Tyson knows it.

“It’s just the class I’m TA-ing and they’re taking an exam,” Nate says, which isn’t a total lie. He also has a meeting with his advisor beforehand, but it wouldn’t be the first time EJ has seen him walk into his office with the biggest cup of coffee available from Mean Beans. “Besides, it doesn’t start until eleven. That’s nearly enough time for a real sleep.”

“Are you going to be able to come to hockey tonight?” Tyson says, easily toying with the silver chain around his neck that holds Tyson’s token. “Nail said a new guy is coming in, said you’d click pretty well with him.”

Nate hums, considering. It’s been a while since he’s been able to make it out with Tyson, and he misses it. The shred of the ice under his skates, the wind leaving his chest as he flies down the ice.

He’s got a few things to tweak on this chapter, but –

“Yeah,” he says as Tyson snakes an arm around his waist. “Yeah, I’ll come with you. I might need another nap after class, but definitely.”

“Awesome,” Tyson says, soft and muffled as he presses a kiss to Nate’s cheek before moving his laptop off his lap and setting it on the coffee table. “Now, bed. Zombie Nate is cute but not nearly as cute as Regular Nate.”

“Aw, you always have the best lines to get me into bed,” Nate says, deadpan as Tyson gets to his feet, tugging Nate up after him.

“That’s me, a regular charmer,” Tyson says, cutting himself off with a yawn.

Nate lets himself get led to bed, and it’s a testament to how tired he is that he barely thinks about his book once before he succumbs to Tyson’s warmth and falls fast asleep.

_X_

Class is nothing new, and Nate is certain that more than the majority of his students had pre-written their exams on the notecard he allowed, so it goes off without a hitch.

EJ didn’t even say anything about his extra large coffee when he walked into his advising meeting looking like death warmed over, so notch that as another win.

He’s got a couple texts from the group chat he’s in of the guys from their rec hockey league, but he ignores them in favor of getting back in the car and heading home. Tyson’s probably napping, as he usually is when Nate gets home from class on Mondays, and Nate wants nothing more than to curl around him where he’s snuggled into their duvet.

He really loves Tyson a lot, okay?

As he’s driving home, he can’t help but toy with the ring hanging on the chain around his neck,  the cool metal with Tyson’s Color -- a cool toned grey, nearly blue -- dyed into it slipping onto the tip of his finger easily.

When Nate first went to get his blood tested for it’s Compatibility Color a week after his eighteenth birthday, he wondered what it would be like to have someone that matched him, to already feel like he knows his Compatible whenever they end up meeting because they would be an extension of himself, to feel their token on his skin after they call it official.

But when Nate came out of the appointment with only a band-aid stuck over his arm and no Color to call his own, all of those wondrous ideas came to a crashing halt. His parents assured him that it was okay, that not everyone has a Color, but Nate couldn’t help but feel that something was missing.

Well, until he met Tyson, that is.

Loving Tyson was something inevitable, Nate realizes later. He calls it fate, and Tyson calls it a random happenstance, but they both call it home. Nobody, not even Nate, would’ve guessed that in this class he got thrown into last minute -- a class that he would’ve never thought to take ever in his life -- he would find the love of his life at the front of it, introducing himself as Tyson-the-TA.

Sometimes these things just work out, and four years later, it’s still working out.

Fate, he’ll argue.

Home, he can agree with, especially as he pulls into the driveway of his and Tyson’s place, the walk from the front door to their bedroom an easy, committed to muscle memory journey.

Tyson’s curled into the blankets, just like Nate thought he’d be, snoring a little where he’s starfished on the mattress and Nate is so in love with him that his heart hurts with it sometimes.

He toes off his shoes and pulls his hoodie off before climbing into bed with his boyfriend, nudging him a little to make even the smallest bit of space. Next to him, Tyson stirs and in his half-awake state, scooches further over to his side of the bed. He looks up, blinking the sleep from his eyes before realizing it’s Nate, a small smile on his face as he burrows into the blankets.

“You’re home,” he says, voice raspy with sleep and Nate smiles, presses a kiss to Tyson’s forehead.

“I am,” he says, tucking his arm under Tyson’s shoulders and pulling him close, still warm and malleable with sleep.

“H’was class?” Tyson mumbles into Nate’s chest, palm heavy over the chain on his neck.

Nate hums, runs a hand down Tyson’s back. “Boring. How was home?”

“Boring,” Tyson parrots, presses a kiss to Nate’s chest, still drawing easy patterns over his chest with his forefinger. “Hockey tonight?”

“For sure,” Nate says, and while he had every intention of napping before hockey, he’s missed being able to spend lazy Mondays in bed with Tyson. “Got a couple hours though.”

“Mmm, is that so?” Tyson says, and Nate can _feel_ the smile against his skin before it morphs into a kiss.

Nate reaches his hand up from it’s resting spot at Tyson’s hip and moves it into his curls, scratching easily at his scalp.

“Mhmm,” he hums, just as Tyson tips his face up for a kiss, an easy request that Nate is more than happy to fulfill.

_X_

It’s not that Nate’s out of shape, okay? He’s perfectly in shape; hits the gym a couple of times a week while it’s still free for him -- the only perks of still being a student, some days -- but the fact that EJ has him doing more laps than necessary, even though it’s basically his fault that he wasn’t able to make it to hockey is entirely not what he planned for.

So maybe he’s a little out of shape in a hockey sense. There’s only so many stair-climbers you can do to replicate the feeling of flying down the ice.

Stupid Colorado altitude.

“What, Big Mac?” EJ crows from center ice as Nate makes his way to the bench in search of a water bottle. “Thesis kicking your ass more than you’re letting on?”

Nate takes his glove off, flipping EJ off as he takes a long drink from the bottle in his hand.

He’s picking at the tape on his stick, a little frayed from the last time he used it when Tyson skates by, nudging him entirely on purpose, skating away just as fast as he blew by but still moving Nate enough to knock the water bottle from the boards to the ground.

“Tys, you’re a fuckin’ menace,” Nate calls after him, then turns to go pick it up but when he goes to grab it, someone’s already picking it up and handing it to him.

Nate has no idea who this unbearably attractive blond dude in front of him is, but he does know that he’s handing Nate his water bottle and Nate is just… staring. Which is a little creepy, he should really --

“Shit, uh,” Nate says, eloquent as always grabbing the bottle from him. “Thanks.”

The guy smiles, and if Nate thought before that this couldn’t get any worse for him, he was sorely mistaken. He’s beautiful, almost unfairly so, and Nate’s a little stressed about it.

“No problem,” the guy says, and it’s only then that Nate realizes that he’s in hockey gear, helmet tucked under his arm and stick in hand. “I’m Gabe,” he says, holding his hand out.

Nate shakes it, still a little shocked how beautiful Gabe is, and thankful he doesn’t have to speak because Nail comes crashing in as soon as he sees Gabe at the boards. Nate drops his hand,

“Nate! I see you meet Gabe,” he says. “He’s new guy I was telling your boy about.”

Gabe laughs, just a light and easy thing that makes his smile more beautiful and Nate needs to be anywhere else right now.

“I take it you’re Nate,” Gabe says, and Nate nods.

“That’s what they tell me,” Nate says with a shrug, and Gabe smiles.

“Mostly he’s Nate Dawg,” says Tyson, snowing to a stop at the boards, right next to Nate.

Nate rolls his eyes. “Nobody calls me that--”

“Sometimes two-nine,” Tyson continues.

Next to him, Nail laughs and says, “You only call him ‘babe.’”

Tyson shrugs. “Fair enough.”

“This is my boyfriend, Tyson,” Nate introduces, since Tyson and Nail are now engrossed in a conversation of what Nate’s apparent nicknames are. “Don’t listen to anything he says.”

“Hey!”

“Especially when he says that people call him T-Beauty,” Nate goes on, ignoring Tyson’s interjection. “We tried telling him that he can’t give himself a nickname but he refuses to listen.”

Gabe laughs, swinging himself over the boards and onto the ice. “Alright, not-Nate Dawg and not-T-Beauty. Let’s do this.”

As soon as the puck drops, it’s clear to Nate -- and probably to the rest of the team --  that Gabe is _really_ good. Like, he does this for more than just fun kind of good.

“So,” Tyson says, as they’re walking out of the locker room. “Where’s the camera? Are we on Punk’d? Because there’s no way that Gabe is just a beer leaguer.”

Gabe laughs, bright and loud and Nate can’t help but smile at the sound. “Cross my heart,” he says. “I just coach here. Figure I might want to be good in order to tell kids what to do.”

Tyson nods, hums in agreement. “Yeah, that’s probably a good point.”

“Boyfriends! Pretty Swede!” Nail shouts, coming up behind them and dragging Nate and Gabe under his arm. “We’re going for drinks. You’re coming.”

Nate grimaces, worms his way out from under Nail’s arm. “We’d love to, but Tys has work in the morning and I’ve got _so_ much to write.”

Gabe gives into the forced affection Nail is roping him into, but manages to get loose enough in his grip to tilt his head at Nate. “Write?”

“Master’s Thesis,” Nate shrugs, and next to him, Tyson scoffs.

“Also your _incredible_ book,” he says, slipping his hand around Nate’s waist. Gabe’s interest is piqued even more at that.

“A book?” he asks, and he sounds almost impressed. “You’re writing a book?”

Nate smiles, scratches at the back of his neck. “It’s a work in progress,” he settles on. “Tyson brags about it more than I do.”

“Well, I’m sure it’s going to be great,” Gabe says, and the sincerity in his voice is enough to get Nate’s cheeks to heat.

“Thanks,” he manages, even tacking on a smile before it dissolves into a yawn.

“Yeah, no, bedtime for you, Mr. ‘I didn’t sleep last night’,” Tyson tsks, squeezing a hand around Nate’s hip. “We’ll come out next week, promise.”

Nail sighs, long and exaggerated. “ _Fine_ , old men.”

With quick goodbyes, they make it to their car and the drive home is a fairly easy one, albeit maybe a little above the speed limit thanks to Tyson and his driving.

“Are you hungry at all?” Nate says, unlocking the front door. “It’s still early enough that we can justify pizza.”

He doesn’t get an answer, just hears the _whump_ of Tyson hitting the couch. Assumably, face first.

“Tys?”

“He’s so fucking _attractive_ ,” Tyson grumbles, words muffled by his cheek pushing into one of the throw pillows. “How is that even _fair_.”

Nate laughs, sits on the arm of the chair and runs a hand through Tyson’s curls. “Oh, bud. I know.”

Turning over, Tyson groans, then scrubs a hand over his face. “I just-- I don't get it. I don’t _get_ it, Nate.”

“I know, babe,” Nate says, and he’s trying very hard not to laugh which is incredibly difficult, considering what his internal monologue was the first time _he_ saw Gabe. “Come on, freak out about this in bed. We have shit to do tomorrow.”

Tyson grumbles, but he does push himself up and manage to walk down the hall.

He’s not sure why there’s relief aching in his chest at the prospect of Tyson also finding Gabe attractive. Being with Tyson brings a lot of trust, a lot of communication --  sometimes more than he would hope for -- so it’s not like he was worried at the idea of finding someone else attractive, it’s just. It’s nice to have the reassurance.

When they’re just about to drift off, Tyson shifts, pushing Nate onto his side so he can curl around him.

“Nail was right,” Tyson says around a yawn. “You looked good out there with Gabe.”

Nate takes a deep breath, squeezes Tyson’s arm, and lets himself close his eyes.

_X_

Tyson knows when Nate needs a change of scenery.

If it’s not obvious by him the twitching and the fidgeting, the constant sighs and his own hands running through his hair, it’s definitely obvious by the fact that he’s rearranged the entire living room.

Twice.

In the last three days.

“Alright, nope,” Tyson says as Nate is poised to fight the coffee table, again. “We’re going out.”

Nate looks up, eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights. “What? We don’t have to--”

“You’re going to break something,” Tyson says, “and it might be yourself.”

“I’m fine, Tys, I just gotta—“ he stops himself, sighs. “I feel like I need to _do_ something.”

Tyson nods, grabbing his car keys from the hook by the door. He walks over to Nate, kisses him once on the cheek, and once on the lips, both soft and sweet.

“So let’s get out of here,” he says, grabbing Nate’s laptop and tucking it into his computer bag. “You’ve got cabin fever and I don’t want you to take it out on David and Marcus.”

“They’ll be fine,” Nate grumbles, accepting his computer bag where Tyson is holding it out.

“I know they will. Just like you’ll be,” Tyson says. “Now, car. Coffee on me.”

Nate sighs, and for the first time all morning, Tyson can tell it’s a sigh that actually lets some of the tension bleed out of his chest.

“Love you,” Nate says, heading toward the door.

“I know,” says Tyson, because he does.

The coffee shop they end up at is across town, tucked away in a neighborhood everyone always forgets about. They’ve never been there before, which will be good for Nate.

“Go grab a table,” Tyson says, nudging Nate toward a group of tables in the corner of the shop. “Same thing as usual?”

Nate confirms with a nod and a squeeze of his hand in Tyson’s and then he’s off, leaving Tyson to the cashier.

He orders a vanilla latte for himself, a cappuccino for Nate, and a cinnamon roll for them to share and then he’s off to the table Nate picked -- facing the window, tucked away from the noise.

He’s nearly there when he gets nudged just enough to send a little of the latte art in their mugs onto the saucers.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” someone is saying, and wait a second, Tyson knows that voice. “Wait, Tyson?”

And apparently, the voice knows him too.

Looking up, he’s pleasantly surprised to see Gabe, to-go cup in hand and what’s assumedly a pastry in a bag.

“Hey, man,” Tyson says, unable to help the smile on his face. “How’s it going?”

“Good, good. Just heading out, actually.” Gabe says, lifting his cup up a little. Tyson can’t help but notice a flash of silver on his wrist, a Compatible marker tab on the chain. His token, then. “Grabbing the daily caffeine before heading to the rink.”

“So soon?” Tyson asks, checking his watch. “It’s, like, four o’clock.”

Gabe laughs a little. “I coach over there. Squirt and Peewee mostly, but sometimes bantam.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Tyson says. “You seem like you’d be a pretty good coach.”

Gabe quirks an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tugged into a smirk as he says, “Thanks, T-Beauty.”

“Ugh, don’t fuel the fire,” Nate says, and Tyson hadn’t even noticed him coming over from his table. He takes his cappuccino from Tyson’s hand, takes a sip. “He already thinks it’s some kind of incredible nickname --”

“Because it _is_ ,” Tyson interjects.

Gabe laughs, soft and amused and Tyson is a little caught up in how much he’d like to hear that all the time to notice that he’s saying “I might have to side with Tyson on this one.”

Yeah, he’s kind of perfect.

“I like him,” Tyson hears himself saying. “Can we keep him? We should keep him.”

Nate rolls his eyes before heading back to the table, and Tyson’s beaming, and Gabe is laughing easily, and it seems like the easiest thing in the world.

“Unfortunately not,” Gabe says. “Or at least not today, because I’ve got children to boss around, but I’m always here in the mornings before work if you guys ever find yourself over here.”

“It’s possible we might take you up on that,” Tyson says, taking a sip of his own latte. “Nate gets a little wacky if he’s cooped up at home while he’s writing. I promise he’s usually a lot more people-person-y.”

“He does look a little stressed,” Gabe says, and Tyson hums.

“He’s feng shui’ed our living room three times in the last week,” Tyson sighs, the smallest of fond smiles on his lips.

“Well, hey, if the writing thing doesn’t pan out,” Gabe says, “he’s probably got a future in interior design.”

Tyson laughs, nods a little. “You’ve got that right. You should’ve see the crazy thing he did with the couches the other day, it was _nuts_ but he wrote a chapter and a half while it was like that, so it stayed until he was stuck again.”

“God, that sounds…” he says, looking over at Nate where he’s probably chewing on the end of his pen. “Vaguely amusing, I’m not going to lie.”

Tyson smiles, a little fond, but he can’t help it when it comes to Nate. “You’ve got that right.”

Gabe has to get going soon after that, so Tyson finally joins Nate at the table and delivers the cinnamon roll.

“Fuck yes,” Nate says, picking a piece off with his fingers. “This looks awesome.”

“ _You_ look awesome,” Tyson says, and he knows the eye roll from Nate is coming before he even sees it.

“Fucking dork,” Nate says, going back to his computer.

Tyson knows he’ll be tucked into his word processor for a while, and while it gets a little lonely when that happens, he can always count on Nate hooking their ankles together under the table.

ooo

They keep running into Gabe at the coffee shop.

Well, maybe it’s “not running into” at this point, since Gabe literally told Tyson when he comes in, but they do find themselves there in instances other than Nate needing to be anywhere else than their apartment.

There’s also the times when it’s not coffee, where Gabe comes over to help Tyson rearrange Nate’s most recent writing-induced interior design choices, or when they go to catch the newest Marvel movie when it comes out, or when they grab dinner or drinks after hockey.

It’s become such a thing that even the guys on the team have started to realize that they’re becoming somewhat of a package deal.

“Landy, are we still on for coffee tomorrow?” Nate asks, throwing the last of his gear in his bag. “I think it’s my treat this time.”

“Definitely,” Gabe says, shouldering his bag. “Tys, you in?”

“Work,” he says, and he sounds genuinely upset about it. “But grab me a chocolate chip cookie before you come home.”

The _home_ comment was definitely meant for Nate, but it earns their fair share of chirps and jeers as they all leave the locker room, especially from Nail.

“Home, huh?” Nail says, bumping Tyson with his bag. “Have boyfriends added pretty Swede?”

Nate laughs, a little nervous. “Nah, we just always end up back at our place for lunch after coffee when Tyson’s back from work.”

Because they do. Which didn’t seem like much of a _thing_ until Nail pointed it out.

“Mhmm,” Nail hums, nodding slowly, eyebrows raised. “Okay then, Mac.”

ooo

Coffee with Gabe is fine. Great even, but he can’t help but shake the feeling he got from Nail’s comments earlier.

As they’re on their way back to Tyson and Nate’s, Gabe is humming along to the radio and Nate is feeling things, namely that it feels like they _have_ added Gabe.

Accidentally, but he just -- he fits.

Tyson gets home to find them on the couch, intense game of chel being played. Gabe’s seated in the center, Nate off to the side, and it’s easy for Tyson to intentionally walk in front of both of them before plopping down on the couch, despite the yells of protest.

Gabe scores the overtime winning goal while Tyson’s walking in front of Nate, and Nate groans, over exaggerated.

“Whoops,” Tyson says, plopping down on the other side of Gabe.

“The worst,” Nate says, tossing his controller on the coffee table.

Before he even knows what’s going on, Gabe is pressing a kiss to Tyson’s cheek and saying, “Nah, he’s pretty great.”

Tyson can feel his face start to burn, tries to will his face into doing anything but shock, but judging by the way Nate chokes on the drink of water he was taking, he doesn’t seem to succeed.

“Duh,” he finally manages, laughing lightly.

Gabe ducks out about an hour later, since he’s got an early tournament, and it’s no sooner than he leaves that Nate throws himself face first into the couch, reminiscent of that first day they met him.

“Oh, god, we like him,” Tyson says, sinking into the armchair. “Nate, we _like_ him.”

“I’m aware,” Nate says, muffled by his face pushed into the pillow.

It’s quiet for a beat, and then they both realize what they just said.

“It’s not that you’re--”

“I still love you like crazy--”

They both stop, look at each other and sigh, and Tyson knows that Nate is on the same page as him. He takes the opportunity to head over to the couch, prod Nate into sitting up before sitting in his lap.

“I still love you,” Tyson says, wrapping his arms around him. “I just. I think there’s something here with him, you know?”

“I do,” Nate says, and Tyson can feel his heart hammering. “I feel it, too.”

An easy silence, a sigh, and then--

“Let’s ask him out,” Tyson says, suddenly. “Like, on a date. Let’s take him out, see if he feels it, too.”

Nate stops, looks at Tyson, at his wild determination and excitement and can’t help but smile.

“Really?” he says, a little more relieved than he’d like to sound, but it’s not everyday that your boyfriend suggest they take your crush out on a date.

“Yeah, babe,” Tyson says, kisses Nate soft and sweet. “Let’s do it.”

“Alright,” Nate agrees. “Let’s do it.”

Tyson smiles, wide and bright and Nate can’t help but fall in love with him a little more.

_X_

 

Gabe has made himself at home on their couch, feet kicked up on the coffee table and a beer in his hand, proving that he already fits so seamlessly into their lives that the conversation they’re about to have seems a little less daunting.

“Everything okay?” he asks as Tyson sits in the armchair, Nate in the corner of the couch. “You guys look nervous.”

Nate laughs, more of a huff of breath. “We just --” he tries, before stopping and taking a deep breath. “We’ve been talking lately, and we were wondering if you’d like to get dinner sometime.”

Gabe’s eyes widen instantly, looking from Tyson and his ever-bouncing leg, to Nate and his twiddling thumbs. “Like, a--”

“Date,” Tyson finishes. “We’d love to take you on a date, if you’re interested. We love spending time with you, and we already feel like… like you fit.”

Holding his breath, Nate watches Gabe’s face for the three agonizing seconds that it’s blank, before his mouth stretches into a smile, small and reserved.

“That sounds-- Shit, yeah,” Gabe says, shaking his head incredulously. “Yes, I’d love that.”

Nate smiles, finally exhaling, and he loves the smile this brought to Tyson’s face -- pure unadulterated joy.

“Just, uh,” Gabe starts, fiddling with the sleeve of his hoodie before pushing it up, revealing his token. “I know Compatibilities aren’t the end all, be all, I just have to --”  
  
He flips over the tab on his bracelet, and as much as Tyson is expecting his heart to drop, it doesn’t. The tab on the other side is a cool blue, almost grey in the light and, well. It makes sense. Some things fit together, even when they don’t.  
  
Tyson and Nate both move to grab one of Gabe’s hands, firm and grounding, a fluid movement that brings a small smile to Gabe’s lips.  
  
“It’s beautiful,” Nate says, and he hopes Gabe can feel the sincerity of his words. “Same cool-tone as Tys.”

Tyson smiles, a little bashful as he says, “You’re right about Compatibilities, though. They’re not a make-or-break.”

He looks at Nate, eyes fond with an equally soft smile on his face. He knows how tough it is for Nate to tell people about not having a Color, but the usual worry that aches in his chest whenever he tells someone just… isn’t there.

“It hasn’t changed anything about Tyson and I, even with me being Colorless,” Nate says, not even needing to try and search for the right words, especially as Gabe is brushing his thumb over Nate’s. “And I don’t think it would change with the three of us.”

“I assumed,” Gabe said, and it’s not pitying or sad like Nate usually gets. Just genuine. “You’ve got Tyson’s token, but he doesn’t have one. My sister is Colorless, too, but that didn’t stop her from fitting with someone.”

Nate squeezes Gabe’s hand appreciatively, letting the smallest of smiles come back to his lips.  
  
“If you still want to try for this, regardless of Colors,” Tyson starts, squeezing Gabe’s hand, “then we still want to give it a go.”

It’s like fireworks, the way that Gabe’s face lights up and his eyes shine.

“I’m in.”

ooo

They make sure to tell Gabe that it’s not anything too fancy because while it would be awesome to see him dressed up -- Nate’s still convinced he’s some kind of model -- this date is definitely not the one to do this on.  

Matter of fact, it’s the complete opposite because --

“Mini-golf,” Gabe says as meet outside of the course. “Oh, my god, I love this.”

Tyson doesn’t tell Nate that he told him so, but he does smile and tilt his head as if to say it.

They take their time getting through the course, each walk between a tiny windmill and a pint sized winding hill providing easy conversation, and Nate can’t help but feel the first date butterflies as they all line up for the eighteenth hole.

“Proposition,” Gabe says, setting his bright pink golf ball on the dot.

Tyson sets his purple right next to it. “Shoot.”

Gabe smiles, then points his stick at the mechanical dinosaur guarding the last hole.

“If either of you two make it under par, I pay for dinner,” Gabe says as Nate sets his orange ball opposite of Tyson’s, right next to Gabe’s.

Nate makes like he’s going to argue, but Gabe nudges him. “It won’t be anything fancy. Just this place I know down on First and Roslyn.”

“If we don’t?” Nate asks.

Gabe shrugs. “Then we do what you were originally planning, and I’ll buy ice cream.”

Tyson’s never one to back down from a challenge -- or free food for that matter -- so Nate knows what’s coming when he lines up for the putt. “Oh, you’re _on_ , Landeskog.”

Gabe steps back, motions for Tyson to go for it and then puts his arm around Nate, warm and inviting. Nate feels himself melt into it, putting an arm around Gabe’s shoulder as they watch Tyson and his lack of mini-golf skills.

The first shot goes a little wide and gets swept away by the dinosaur’s tail. The second nearly makes it, but doesn’t have enough power behind it and rolls back down the hill.

“Last shot, T,” Nate chirps. “Think of the _food_.”

“But now I’m thinking about ice cream,” he grumbles, tongue stuck out in concentration.

Gabe laughs bright, and warm, and Nate can’t help but look up at him, warm smile of his own surely stretched across his lips.

Tyson takes the shot and Nate takes his eyes away from Gabe just long enough to see the putt wind up the hill and fall perfectly under the dinosaur’s belly, into the hole.

They all cheer, like they’re not grown ass men in a mini-golf park, and Nate is honestly surprised he doesn’t drop down into some dramatic celly. Instead he’s got his arms thrown up over his head, t-shirt riding up just a little and exposing just a bit of his stomach and Nate can’t help but look, more fond than anything.

Gabe, though?

Gabe is definitely checking him out, if the smirk on his face is anything to go by, and Nate loves it.

“Alright, Landes _nerd_ ,” Tyson says, walking back to where Gabe and Nate are standing at the start of the course. “You’re up.”

“Landesnerd,” Gabe repeats, nodding. “Points for creativity, Care Bear, I’ll take it.”

Nate laughs, a full bodied thing that nearly brings tears to his eyes, cut a little short by Tyson whacking him in the stomach, a smile of his own on his face as they watch Gabe line up for the shot.

Tyson, because he’s insufferable, whistles exaggeratedly as Gabe leans forward, but Gabe just smiles and says, “Checking me out?”

“Absolutely,” Nate says.

“Best view in the house,” Tyson says.

Gabe laughs, shaking his head, but Nate can see that the tips of his ears have gone a little pink. God, he’s so cute. They get to have this. Nate doesn’t think he’ll ever get over that.

Gabe shoots, and they all watch as the ball winds across the course, past every obstacle and drops perfectly into the hole, first shot.

“Damn,” Nate says. “That’s actually pretty impressive, I’m not gonna lie.”

“Does this mean you pay for dinner and then we _also_ get ice cream?” Tyson says.

Nate and Gabe can’t help but laugh, and Gabe comes back over by the two of them, tugs Tyson into his chest with an arm around his neck and kisses the top of his head.

“Yes, Tys,” Gabe says. “That’s exactly what this means.”

ooo

The Uber from the restaurant is comfortable and easy, like dinner was, like this was always meant to happen. Like Gabe was put into their lives so they can hold his hands in the back of a car on the way home.

Well, maybe that’s not the exact reason. But right now, a little tipsy and a little sugary and perfectly warm, that’s what Nate feels the reason is.

When they finally make it home, Gabe assumes his spot on the couch -- right in the center -- and Tyson cuddles up next to him as Nate hangs up his keys and grabs himself a bottle of water.

“There’s a game on tonight, right?” Gabe says, propping his feet up on the coffee table.

Nate hums, plopping down into his corner seat, tossing an arm over Gabe’s shoulders. “Pretty sure,” he says, grabbing the remote. “Gotta be game six or something now.”

Curled into Gabe’s side, Tyson hums. “Think it’s five,” he says. “Dallas is staging a comeback.”

“How rude of them,” Gabe says, pressing a kiss to the top of Tyson’s head as Nate finds the channel, laughing easily.

“You should write them a strongly worded letter,” Nate says, looking at the two of them, intertwined and comfortable. He nestles into Gabe’s side a little closer.

Gabe hums, considering, looking at Nate. “Maybe I will,” he says softly, close enough to Nate that he can feel the words against his skin.

With a smile and a small nod, it’s easy to close the gap between them, to press his lips to Gabe’s and even easier to melt into it. He can almost feel Gabe smiling against his lips as he sighs, slotting their lips together, letting Gabe nip lightly at his lower lip before pulling away.

Nate knows he probably looks like the world’s biggest dork right now, huge smile stretched across his face as he lets his head drop to Gabe’s shoulder, shaking with easy laughter.

“What’s so -- ” Tyson starts, sitting up suddenly. “You kissed! You _kissed_ , Nate’s all bashful!”

Gabe laughs out loud this time, and Nate realizes he’s perfectly okay with hearing that sound for the rest of his life, especially mixed with Tyson’s.

“You’re a regular detective, Tys,” Nate says, pressing another kiss to Gabe’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Tyson says, playful as ever, smile on his face. Nate loves that smile, loves that Gabe gets to see it too. “I was fine sitting here not getting an invitation to the little party you two were--”

“Tyson?”

“What.”

“Do you want a kiss?” Gabe asks, easy smirk on his face and Tyson rolls his eyes.

“That’s such a dumb question,” he says, then leans forward and kisses Gabe firm, and sure, and sweet, and Nate’s heart could burst.

Instead, he laughs softly, leaning forward to press kisses to Gabe’s shoulder. Never pulling away from Tyson, Gabe snakes his hand up to grab Nate’s where it’s draped over his shoulder, squeezing as he kisses Tyson breathless.

Beneath Gabe’s lips, Tyson makes a soft, pleased sound -- one that Nate’s used to hearing, but is frankly a little hot seeing as it’s someone else making him make that sound.

He hums against Gabe’s shoulder, squeezing his hand as Gabe pulls away from Tyson, breath coming quickly and an easy smile on both of their faces.

“Proposition,” Nate says, and both Gabe and Tyson look at him, eyebrows raised. “Still doing this, but doing it horizontally.”

They both laugh, but are seemingly on board with it seeing as they both get up and offer Nate a hand to pull him up as well. He takes both of their hands, lets them pull him up and lets Tyson lead them to their bedroom, fingers intertwined with Gabe’s.

“Horizontal was such a good idea,” Gabe says as he flops into the center of their bed.

 _God_ , Nate thinks, _he already looks like he belongs there._

“I have those, sometimes,” Nate says, sidling in against Gabe’s right while Tyson takes the other side.

“I’d say more than sometimes,” Tyson says, pressing a kiss to Gabe’s cheek.

“Agreed,” Gabe says, then pulls Nate in for another kiss.

They’re smiling too much for it to be anything more than a press of their lips, but when Gabe settles a hand at Nate’s jaw, sweeping a thumb across his cheek, the smiles melt away for the sake of the kiss and Nate couldn’t be happier.

_X_

Morning for Nate comes in the form of sunlight streaming through the windows, and he can’t stop the overwhelming happiness he feels in his chest when he opens his eyes to see Gabe and Tyson next to him, Gabe’s back pressed against Tyson’s chest, tucked under Tyson’s arm.

Tyson always did love being the big spoon.

He doesn’t want to wake them, but he can’t help but press a light kiss to Gabe’s forehead, drape his arm over the two of them and melt into their warmth.

Gabe wakes up soon after, if the nuzzling at Nate’s collarbone is anything to go by.

“Morning,” Nate says, soft enough to not wake Tyson up.

Gabe hums, sleepy smile on his face as he presses a kiss to Nate’s chest. “Morning.”

He lets himself press another kiss to the top of Gabe’s head as he feels Tyson start to stir, looks over to see him blinking sleepily at Nate, easiest smile on his face.

God, Nate loves him.

“Hey, you,” Nate says, watches Tyson press a kiss to Gabe’s shoulder.

“I had the weirdest dream,” Tyson says, voice still cracking with sleep. “We were on a beach or something, and -- oh my god.”

Nate furrows his eyebrows. “What?”

Tyson sits up, shakes Gabe a little to get his attention, and then looks past the two of them.

“Look in our closet,” Tyson says, and Nate is _so_ confused. “Nate, _look.”_

Nate turns, looks at the closet door where it’s still wide open for some reason and then he sees it. Tyson’s Avalanche jersey he bought last season. Maroon, grey, and blue, perfectly cohesive even if they don’t match.

“We match,” Gabe says, softly. “Our Colors match the logo.”

Nate laughs, because he can’t help it, and it’s laughter that’s full of fondness and love and a little bit of surprise.

“We _match,”_ Tyson repeats, shaking Gabe a little more. “This is fucking _awesome._ ”

Nate smiles, turning back over and propping his head on his hand.

“Yeah,” he says. “This is.”


End file.
